Greetings readers!
Disclaimer: I do not, nor will I ever, own Ranma ½.
A Promise of Daffodils
By La Belle Dame sans Merci
With credit to the poetry of William Wordsworth
A young woman walked slowly down the street, seemingly lost among the deepening shadows. Her face was masked by shadows from the oversized grey cloak that she wore. As the lights along the street lit up one by one, a single tear was illuminated against a pale cheek.
The woman paused before a brightly lit shop. The beautiful flowers held just out of reach beyond a crystal wall seemed out of place on the gloomy street. She held up a hand and pressed a palm to the shining glass, as if trying to reach the treasures held within.
Things had not been going well. It was never easy to balance work and her family, but somehow, she managed. There was always food on the table, and she always had an ear ready for listening, or arms ready for a comforting hug. Now though, now she wasn't sure what was happening.
It seemed like it had been ages since her husband had left, though it really couldn't have been more than a two or three years. When he left, he promised that he'd be back in two months. Two months. She'd looked everywhere for him, contacted every agency. In the end she'd spent their entire savings. She and her children were forced to return to her childhood home, and move in with her father. She took a job as a secretary to support the kids. The work was degrading, and the constant four walls nearly suffocated her, but she persisted. It was for her children, and they were all she had left.
The woman sighed and leaned her forehead against the cool glass. The flowers were so beautiful. He had loved flowers. She was surprised when he told her that. He always seemed so. so masculine, so the flowers surprised her. What surprised her even more, was the poetry. After their marriage, he would spend countless hours reading poetry aloud as she drifted off to sleep. His calm voice, usually so rough and improper, was soothing and almost melodious.
She was the only one who ever knew about his love of poetry. There was some pride in that. After he left, when the others said that he'd run off with another one of those bimbos, she took comfort in the fact that they didn't know him. How could they possibly know her husband, if they didn't know about one of the things that brought him the most joy in life?
But now, things were different. It had been too long. She couldn't waste away anymore, hoping he would return. She'd lost her job a week ago, after her son had been sent to the hospital. She left work to go see him immediately, without giving any warning. She didn't regret that. He could have died that night. Still, though, bills bring you to reality quickly. If she didn't find a new job soon, she would never pay off the medical bills.
She couldn't afford to waste anymore time waiting for her husband. Nothing could defeat him, he'd proved that time and time again. That only meant one thing. He really had left her. The only thing keeping him away was. himself.
The tears began to flow in earnest now, rolling down the woman's face. It had taken her three years to realize what they'd told her all along. In a sudden fit of rage, she punched the window in front of her, shattering the glass with one blow. She ignored the blood streaming down her injured hand as she gazed at the wreckage she'd created. Amidst the torn petals, and the disarrayed mass of green, a single vase of flowers sat spared from her anger. She sunk to the ground as she saw what was left, a simple cluster of yellow flowers. Unbidden, an image crept into her head.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"You know what I love about daffodils, 'Kane?" She shook her head and smiled, aware of the inevitable explanation. There were few things her husband liked to talk about more than flowers.
"They're so beautiful, and perfectly shaped, like a little cup ready to catch the sunlight. Everytime I see them, they make me smile."
"Why's that?" She asked, knowing the answer.
"'Cause yellow's the color of happiness!" The two laughed, sharing an old joke from years past. "More than that, though. There's this poem some old British guy wrote. It's one of my favorites."
The woman laughed again. "Come on honey, they're all your favorites."
He smiled, "That may be true, but this one really is a great one. The poet says that whenever he feels sad or depressed, he thinks back to a beautiful field of flowers that he once saw. That's kinda like me, y'know? You too. Whenever I see a daffodil, I think about the people I love." He paused for a moment, lost in thought. "Hey, 'Kane, will you promise me something?"
"Anything." The woman did not even need to consider her husband's request.
"If I. If something ever happens to me, and you can't find me, or you don't know where I am." He paused, unsure of how to go on.
"Oh honey, nothing will happen to you."
"But. If it does, and you're upset or something, just look at these flowers, kay? I'll always come back to you, no matter what. Promise me you'll remember." His eyes seemed nearly desperate in their intensity.
"I. I promise, dear."
As soon as the words were spoken, the man's face brightened to its normal cheery expression. "Now how about some lemonade?"
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
A sudden strength infused the woman. She reached forward and plucked one of the yellow flowers from its vase. Its scent was heady to her reeling mind. She stood up and brushed the glass and dirt from her clothing. Clasping the daffodil to her chest, she continued walking down the street.
No longer would she waste away, waiting for her husband's return. There were children to feed, and bills to pay. Yet she would not give up either. Smiling, she brushed the soft petals of the daffodil against her lips.
"And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils."
Life would still be hard. Things cannot change in one day. But she would never doubt again. Her husband would return, and she would be waiting for him when he did.
"I'm sorry, Ranma. I won't forget again."
Fin
Hmmmm.. What to say? Well, first things first. I had a horrible time trying to come up with a title for this. First I wanted to call it "Dancing with Daffodils" but that's a really pretty name, and I'm going to use it for a happier fic. Then I thought, "The color of happiness" but that also sounds too happy! How is one supposed to come up with an angsty title using the word "Daffodil"? It's not funny! You try it!
Have you ever noticed that if you just start writing something, it completely goes away from your original idea? This story was like that. It has a mind of its own! For some reason, it was supposed to be about daffodils reminding Kasumi of her mother. Well, the story would have none of that!
Also. Before anyone says that Ranma would never like flowers and/or poetry because its way out of character for him, I must state that I have my reasons! The point is that no one knew about his secret hobbies because he was afraid that everyone would think they were "unmanly".
As a last note, this story will probably be the first in a series of daffodil related fics. I like daffodils, so sue me.
Please review with any comments you have. Constructive criticism is always welcome!
Sincerely, La Belle Dame sans Merci
Disclaimer: I do not, nor will I ever, own Ranma ½.
A Promise of Daffodils
By La Belle Dame sans Merci
With credit to the poetry of William Wordsworth
A young woman walked slowly down the street, seemingly lost among the deepening shadows. Her face was masked by shadows from the oversized grey cloak that she wore. As the lights along the street lit up one by one, a single tear was illuminated against a pale cheek.
The woman paused before a brightly lit shop. The beautiful flowers held just out of reach beyond a crystal wall seemed out of place on the gloomy street. She held up a hand and pressed a palm to the shining glass, as if trying to reach the treasures held within.
Things had not been going well. It was never easy to balance work and her family, but somehow, she managed. There was always food on the table, and she always had an ear ready for listening, or arms ready for a comforting hug. Now though, now she wasn't sure what was happening.
It seemed like it had been ages since her husband had left, though it really couldn't have been more than a two or three years. When he left, he promised that he'd be back in two months. Two months. She'd looked everywhere for him, contacted every agency. In the end she'd spent their entire savings. She and her children were forced to return to her childhood home, and move in with her father. She took a job as a secretary to support the kids. The work was degrading, and the constant four walls nearly suffocated her, but she persisted. It was for her children, and they were all she had left.
The woman sighed and leaned her forehead against the cool glass. The flowers were so beautiful. He had loved flowers. She was surprised when he told her that. He always seemed so. so masculine, so the flowers surprised her. What surprised her even more, was the poetry. After their marriage, he would spend countless hours reading poetry aloud as she drifted off to sleep. His calm voice, usually so rough and improper, was soothing and almost melodious.
She was the only one who ever knew about his love of poetry. There was some pride in that. After he left, when the others said that he'd run off with another one of those bimbos, she took comfort in the fact that they didn't know him. How could they possibly know her husband, if they didn't know about one of the things that brought him the most joy in life?
But now, things were different. It had been too long. She couldn't waste away anymore, hoping he would return. She'd lost her job a week ago, after her son had been sent to the hospital. She left work to go see him immediately, without giving any warning. She didn't regret that. He could have died that night. Still, though, bills bring you to reality quickly. If she didn't find a new job soon, she would never pay off the medical bills.
She couldn't afford to waste anymore time waiting for her husband. Nothing could defeat him, he'd proved that time and time again. That only meant one thing. He really had left her. The only thing keeping him away was. himself.
The tears began to flow in earnest now, rolling down the woman's face. It had taken her three years to realize what they'd told her all along. In a sudden fit of rage, she punched the window in front of her, shattering the glass with one blow. She ignored the blood streaming down her injured hand as she gazed at the wreckage she'd created. Amidst the torn petals, and the disarrayed mass of green, a single vase of flowers sat spared from her anger. She sunk to the ground as she saw what was left, a simple cluster of yellow flowers. Unbidden, an image crept into her head.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"You know what I love about daffodils, 'Kane?" She shook her head and smiled, aware of the inevitable explanation. There were few things her husband liked to talk about more than flowers.
"They're so beautiful, and perfectly shaped, like a little cup ready to catch the sunlight. Everytime I see them, they make me smile."
"Why's that?" She asked, knowing the answer.
"'Cause yellow's the color of happiness!" The two laughed, sharing an old joke from years past. "More than that, though. There's this poem some old British guy wrote. It's one of my favorites."
The woman laughed again. "Come on honey, they're all your favorites."
He smiled, "That may be true, but this one really is a great one. The poet says that whenever he feels sad or depressed, he thinks back to a beautiful field of flowers that he once saw. That's kinda like me, y'know? You too. Whenever I see a daffodil, I think about the people I love." He paused for a moment, lost in thought. "Hey, 'Kane, will you promise me something?"
"Anything." The woman did not even need to consider her husband's request.
"If I. If something ever happens to me, and you can't find me, or you don't know where I am." He paused, unsure of how to go on.
"Oh honey, nothing will happen to you."
"But. If it does, and you're upset or something, just look at these flowers, kay? I'll always come back to you, no matter what. Promise me you'll remember." His eyes seemed nearly desperate in their intensity.
"I. I promise, dear."
As soon as the words were spoken, the man's face brightened to its normal cheery expression. "Now how about some lemonade?"
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
A sudden strength infused the woman. She reached forward and plucked one of the yellow flowers from its vase. Its scent was heady to her reeling mind. She stood up and brushed the glass and dirt from her clothing. Clasping the daffodil to her chest, she continued walking down the street.
No longer would she waste away, waiting for her husband's return. There were children to feed, and bills to pay. Yet she would not give up either. Smiling, she brushed the soft petals of the daffodil against her lips.
"And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils."
Life would still be hard. Things cannot change in one day. But she would never doubt again. Her husband would return, and she would be waiting for him when he did.
"I'm sorry, Ranma. I won't forget again."
Fin
Hmmmm.. What to say? Well, first things first. I had a horrible time trying to come up with a title for this. First I wanted to call it "Dancing with Daffodils" but that's a really pretty name, and I'm going to use it for a happier fic. Then I thought, "The color of happiness" but that also sounds too happy! How is one supposed to come up with an angsty title using the word "Daffodil"? It's not funny! You try it!
Have you ever noticed that if you just start writing something, it completely goes away from your original idea? This story was like that. It has a mind of its own! For some reason, it was supposed to be about daffodils reminding Kasumi of her mother. Well, the story would have none of that!
Also. Before anyone says that Ranma would never like flowers and/or poetry because its way out of character for him, I must state that I have my reasons! The point is that no one knew about his secret hobbies because he was afraid that everyone would think they were "unmanly".
As a last note, this story will probably be the first in a series of daffodil related fics. I like daffodils, so sue me.
Please review with any comments you have. Constructive criticism is always welcome!
Sincerely, La Belle Dame sans Merci